


Chasing Cars

by labramazing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1620689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labramazing/pseuds/labramazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing that Bucky Barnes loves more than anything, it's Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Cars

We used to fit together like puzzle pieces. It’s almost comforting to have someone so small wrapped in your embrace; it feels like you are protecting something, like you actually matter. So often I would feel like I didn’t matter, like I was just numbers on a page, a fit, American, man forced to blow himself up in the name of his county, marching in a straight line, firing a gun, just like millions of others. “Yes sir!” I would say, sounding eager, but all I wanted to do was go home. I wanted to be my own person again.

But with Steve I felt like I mattered. I felt like my strong arms wrapped around his body could protect him from the dangers of the world. Steve was innocent, and I would keep innocent by protecting him from the disgusting truth of society. When I could only see the death and destruction in war, Steve looked at it as taking down the bully and standing up for what was right. He somehow managed to see the good in everything, and I couldn’t let that be taken away from him.

When I was with Steve, the horrors of what was going on in the world melted away. I could let the negative consume me for days on end, but as soon as Steve walked in with a smile on his face, I felt like everything would be ok again; I felt like we could be happy. It was almost ironic, because if anyone had anything to be upset over, it was Steve, but he never let anything drag him down. 

When I lay in bed at night with him pressed up against my bare chest, with his heart beating next to mine, all I could think about was how good this man was. His head tucked perfectly beneath my chin, his arms holding my own, and just everything about those moments with him felt right when nothing else did. The war, and whatever else was going on, didn’t matter anymore. The world could end any second and I wouldn’t care as long as we were together.

Then I left to fight in the battle he wanted nothing more than to fight in himself. He wanted to stand up to the bullies, because if anyone knew how terrible bullies were it was, skinny, scrawny, Steve Rogers. All I wanted to do was go home. I wanted to see my friends, my family, and most importantly Steve. There were important things he could do at home, and he knew it. How couldn’t he know about it? The war was plastered all over the big screens and billboards and practically shoved down every citizen’s throat. “Look at all of this scrap metal you can collect to help our country!” they would say. “Look at all of these simple, easy, jobs you can do to help us out!” I wanted him to stay safe, but he was ready to throw his life away just to fire a gun at a group of unjust people. He was insane.

I wouldn’t describe my reunion with my best friend of so long as bittersweet or heartwarming; we didn’t have time to feel anything other than fear. We were trapped inside of hydra, and while I wanted to ask him how the weather was up there, and while I wanted him to laugh and punch me in the arm and tell me exactly how he gained a hundred pounds of muscle since I last saw him, all I could do was run. The nightmares I had heard about the war were coming true. I was a prisoner and I wanted nothing more than to escape.

After we escaped I met the new Steve. He may have been stronger, but he was always gentle. So many nights I would find myself waking up with my head under his chin and his arms wrapped around me. Things never were the same. I was tired from the nightmares I had every night. So many nights I would wake up with tears rolling down my face, breathing rapidly, heart racing. Steve would wake up too. He would hold me tighter; he would tell me everything was ok. I never believed him of course, nothing was ok during the war, but it helped me sleep better anyway.

I never thought that the next time I would be Steve was when we should have been long dead and gone. Of course, I didn’t know that it was Steve I was looking at. I just knew that it didn’t matter who they were; I had to kill them. Somehow, even though I was fighting to kill, Steve was still gentle. “But I knew him!” I told them. They didn’t care. They wanted me to kill him. Hydra wanted the world to be theirs, and they weren’t about to let their most important tool’s feelings get in the way. That’s all I was to them, a tool. They could care less about who I knew and who I didn’t. They wiped me again, and any and every memory other than the fact that I had to kill Steve Rogers, was erased from my head.

No one knows what made me save him, not even I know. I just knew that no matter what, I couldn’t let him die. I failed my mission; I would be punished for what I did, but little did I realize that there was no one left to do the punishing. I was lost without hydra, and I didn’t know where to go. Steve Rogers was all I knew now, and I did anything I could to learn more about him. The longer and longer I went without a reset, the more memories resurfaced. Some of them were painful, sure, but I was getting to know myself more and more every day. When I finally faced Steve Rogers again, the man that I spent all of my time getting to know again, held me in a loving and warm embrace. A sob escaped from his lips, and I wrapped my arms around him. I wasn’t sure if this was what I was supposed to do, with no one left to guide me I was always sort of lost, but something about this just felt right.

Steve Rogers saved the world. He saved the world from me. Every night I feel unworthy. I don’t deserve this hero. I am an outcast. I should be ashamed of what I did. I destroyed the lives of so many people, but for some reason this man finds me worthy of being saved. He insists on tucking his head underneath my chin still, even though I should probably be the one pressed up against him. I think he forgets that he’s not so small anymore sometimes. My arm is nothing but a cold, inhuman, reminder of what I did, but he embraces it anyway. The puzzle pieces don’t fit together too well now, after all we’re all both a little bit broken, but we make things work.


End file.
